The reminder of the evening ahead both excited and unnerved Maggie. How was she to show Mr. Kirk the gown Rosalind had recommended without asking him to her room? That, of course, would be unthinkable. “It’s blue silk,” she said, “trimmed with millions of tiny crystal beads—”

Duncan smiled at Maggie’s emphasis on the word millions and folded his arms. “I want to see the dress,” he repeated.

Maggie opened her mouth to argue that she still planned to give the boys a lesson in botany and have them practice their penmanship, but Mr. Kirk cut her off a second time.

“Put on the gown, please, Miss Chamberlin. I’ll be in my study.” With that Mr. Kirk was striding out of the schoolroom, leaving Maggie behind to simmer. The man was utterly imperious, demanding that she model a dress for him in the middle of the school day!

Nonetheless, Maggie went down to the second floor bedroom where she had slept so fitfully the night before, took the glitteringly beautiful gown from its place in the armoire, and put it on.

The garment was, beyond a doubt, the loveliest thing Maggie had ever seen, let alone owned. Its midnight-blue skirts whispered as she walked, and the crystal beads, spread liberally over the low-cut bodice as well as the skirt, sparkled like diamonds in the light.

Maggie tugged at the bodice, wanting it to show less of her natural endowments, but it resisted, reaching no higher than two scant inches above her nipples. With a sigh she left her room and hurried toward the study. Best to get this over with and return to botany and penmanship.

The doors to the study stood slightly ajar, and Maggie stepped through them after one short knock. Mr. Kirk, working at his desk, looked up at her in amazement, his mouth open, his eyes burning.

“You wanted to see the dress,” Maggie said, her patience wearing thin.

Mr. Kirk dropped his pen, heedless of the ink that splattered from its point over his papers, and stood up. “My God,” he breathed

Maggie couldn’t help being flattered, though she did her best to hide it. She harbored a secret wish that Reeve McKenna could see her in that magnificent, twinkling gown. “May I go now?” she asked coolly, her chin at an obstinate angle.

“You may not,” Duncan breathed, and then he gave his head a slight shake, as if to clear it, and sank back into his leather chair.

Maggie sighed. Perhaps she was to be a “hostess” at night, but it was daytime and, as far as she was concerned, she was still a governess. “The boys’ lessons are waiting—”

“The boys are eating,” Mr. Kirk broke in, and there was just the hint of a smile at his lips and in his eyes. “They’ve had enough schoolwork for one day, anyway. I want them to get some fresh air.”